


coalescence

by LaurytheLatrator



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Amorphous!Cecil, Genderless, M/M, Made of energy, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurytheLatrator/pseuds/LaurytheLatrator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Could a human, perfectly average and untouched by the surreal, love an amorphous collection of energy of indeterminate origin, who has somehow taken it upon itself to watch over this town of the abnormal, to narrate and give guidance to this flotsam of the desert? You like to imagine so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have most of the second part written, so that ought to be up soon. I have yet to listen to anything past Subway, but no doubt I will. Really this is just a way of exploring one of my headcanons. I am proud of my Cecil dialogue though.

There is a knock on the door, and you just barely remember to Manifest.

 

"Come in!" You call out jovially. The ad will play for enough time to see what this is about. A man pokes his head in the door. Oh, you think, it is _Carlos_. The newcomer, the scientist, the perfect, beautiful Carlos with his perfect, beautiful being. And when you try to put more effort into remembering appearances, you think Carlos' exterior is quite nice too.

 

"Are you Cecil Baldwin?" Carlos asks. "The Voice of Night Vale?" At least one of those titles are correct, so you nod.

 

"Yes, that's me." You say, voice a little higher pitched than it is normally on the radio. You clear your throat, feeling the moving air and bodily fluids acutely. "And you're Carlos." You add needlessly. "Perfect—Oh!" You cut off the flow of adjectives with a feeling of intense embarrassment. Of all the moments for verbal ticks, first impressions are the worst. Carlos is making a peculiar expression with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

 

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," Carlos says, taking a step into the booth. "My geiger counter was reacting oddly when I approached the building and the strength of the readings led me here. Do you think I could walk around and take some observations?"

 

"Oh yes, you certainly could!" You reply. "Yes, anything to help you, er, your work. I'll be back on the air in a minute, once the ad is over — oh! We could have an interview!" Carlos seems — you search your emotional vocabulary — chagrined.

 

"I don't think so," The scientist stutters, "I-I'm sorry, if I'd known you were in the middle of a broadcast, I wouldn't have come in at all."

 

"No, no, it's great." You hasten to reassure him, beckoning Carlos further in. "Please, we only have a moment, why don't you take your little machine on its walk?" Carlos smiles a little at that, a minute shift of fleshy lips over pink gums and brightly enameled teeth. Carlos does take out a small yellow box with a handle, a circular dial readout, and a metallic cylinder attached by a wire. Holding the box in one hand, Carlos waves the cylinder through the air with the other; it all seems quite silly. Turning back to your notes (similarly Manifested) for the next community update, you try not to pay attention to the perfect, beautiful scientist and the buzzing, crackling noises coming from his box. However, predictably, you continue to steal glances at Carlos as he wanders, pointing at various objects in the sound booth. Honestly, as a radio host, you do not do well in silence.

 

"How are you settling into Night Vale, Carlos?" You finally blurt out. Carlos turns his head, firm adam's apple protruding from his lithe neck.

 

"I'm not, really." Carlos answers a bit dismissively. "The data is fascinating though. I'm really just here to focus on my work."

 

"Of course, of course." You say, bobbing your head rapidly. Muscles shift with effort. Carlos has circled the perimeter of the booth, and now stands before you. He holds out the cylinder to the microphone, and as his elbow extends towards your body, the crackling intensifies and the readout needle jumps erratically. You swallow thick gobs of saliva.

 

"That's… this is…" Carlos is bewildered, eyes wide with faint terror. "We should be experiencing massive radiation sickness right now. You, you should be dead." You giggle a bit hysterically. What a silly notion. You. Dead.

 

"You're very funny." You compliment Carlos earnestly. The alert signaling the near end of the commercial blinks on. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay for a chat on the mic?" Carlos is already backing away, running sinewy fingers through the black curls of dead fibrous shafts.

 

"You should evacuate, but there are no ill effects, so what's the point? But _really_ …" Carlos stops at the door, pulling it open with a rippling flex of his bicep. Carlos turns his head once more, addressing you with a forced calm. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Baldwin. Thanks for letting me examine the area." Baldwin. Carlos had said that word earlier, but you only just now realize that it was a _name_. Your name, apparently, or Carlos at least thinks it is.

 

"Please," You say, voice wavering just a tad from nerves or excitement, you can never tell which, "Call me Cecil."

 

*

 

You've always had people to talk to, just never face to assumed-face.

 

*

 

You leave Carlos many voicemails. It's easier to speak without expending the effort on physical form.

 

"Hi Carlos, it's Cecil." The lie doesn't feel as bitter as you thought it would. The name fits surprisingly well. It's all very exciting to have a name. "I just thought you might be interested in a bit of _scientific_ news. I'm very into science, you know, so I try to keep track of the science-y goings on around town. Apparently Cactus Julie, she's the moderately attractive girl who wears a hollowed out prickly bulb as a bonnet, has come across some new flowers blossoming around her hut. Given that they sprung up over night and drink only lamb's blood, I thought you could investigate. Perhaps they are not _photosynthesizing_ as they should." You're very proud to know that word, you delved deep into the catacombs of your knowledge to find it. "Anyway, feel free to call me back anytime! I'd love to spend a few hours discussing your science findings with you. You're always welcome on the show. Well, call me back, or not, okay, bye!"

 

Really, you think, that went rather well. You hadn't forgotten anything. You used the fancy science-y word you picked out. You casually invited further interaction. Really, you have high hopes.

 

This could work, right? Carlos is a lovely person. You can tell he has a beautiful being, soul, inner light, whatever the preferred term was nowadays. Carlos is entirely empathetic and kind, motivated by a desire to help others through his knowledge. Oh, and he does have a beautiful love of knowledge, a veritable thirst to learn more. Truly, this was a rare quality to Night Vale, whose mysterious governing bodies discouraged learning as a practice. Carlos is also brave, confident in his abilities, though this can occasionally venture to recklessness. Not to say he's cocky, Carlos is often plagued with needless self-esteem issues. But on the whole, Carlos is a beautiful, perfect person, and you can't help but love him. You love Carlos as much as you are capable of loving a person.

 

But could Carlos love you? Could a human, perfectly average and untouched by the surreal, love an amorphous collection of energy of indeterminate origin, who has somehow taken it upon itself to watch over this town of the abnormal, to narrate and give guidance to this flotsam of the desert? You like to imagine so. Then again, the world is confusing and humans unpredictable.

 

You will hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.

 

*

 

The people of Night Vale adjust quickly to seeing you around town, in person, and frequently call you by name. They are so comfortable with it, you wonder if they've always called you Cecil and you just never realized.

 

*

 

Carlos has (finally, you think, then remind yourself not to be unkind) called you back. Sure, he babbles about clocks and someone at his door, but he definitely mentions a date! Well, you learn later, not a _date_ date, as is the custom of human mating, but more of a casual rendezvous. Still, it's something, and just being in Carlos' presence fills you with joy. Physically, it is as if your ribs are expanding with a substance lighter than air, taking you up and up and up without your control. How exhilarating!

 

Coffee with Carlos becomes a regular thing. You begin to think that Carlos likes you, is perhaps inching closer to an affection for you on the level of yours for him. Yet things move so slowly. You have possibly been in existence for millennia, but the process of bonding with Carlos has you incredibly impatient. While you never push Carlos, you wonder what might be the cause of Carlos' less favorable reaction to your interest.

 

You're certainly open about your feelings, so it can't be that he's confused or unsure or anything. You've been careful never to say anything rude or insulting, as if there would be anything insulting to even say about Carlos. You have always made an effort to be agreeable, friendly, human, and accommodating to him. By all rights, Carlos should be at least a tad smitten by your flattery.

 

A horrible thought occurs to you as you sit across the coffee shop table from Carlos. He is explaining why it isn't _normal_ that time runs differently according to city limits. He's talking with his hands, perfectly crafted hands with smooth skin and wrinkled palms. His beautiful glorious hair shifts with every movement, the silver at his temples shining in the sunlight. The more you see him, with actual eyes, the more you are struck by the handsomeness of his features.

 

What if Carlos is not physically attracted to you? It happens, you know, humans can be fickle about appearances. You don't really have a sense of this body's appearance. It's just something you throw on when needed. An unassuming human suit. It's meant to blend in. You don't spend time looking at your reflection. Maybe you just don't _do_ it for Carlos.

 

Your expression is pensive, but Carlos is too wrapped up in his theorizing to notice. He's metaphorically buzzing with excitement, on the verge of a great revelation. You think you would do anything for this man. You would shape yourself into his fantasy, if he would only let you.

 

"I mean, it is true that time can be warped by gravity, but that's normally a difference of miniscule fractions of a second. There can't be a gravity well in Night Vale that could cause these discrepancies, the amount of force would buckle the town, crack it in two, completely—"

 

"Carlos," You interrupt, fretting too much to be considerate and wait for him to be finished, "Do you like my, um, head?" Carlos gives you a peculiar look. You realize you sound incredibly dumb. "My, my face, I mean, my face. Do you think my face is nice to look at?"

 

"I think you look fine." Carlos hesitantly postulates. "Why, did you do something different, or…"

 

"No, no, I just, oh I'm bungling this up." You hide your eyes behind your hand, terribly bashful. Do you even know what color your own eyes are?

 

"Cecil." You sigh, because you so love how Carlos says your name. A strange sensation occurs, and you notice that Carlos has placed two tentative fingers on the hand sitting on the coffee table. Your hand. Carlos is touching your hand. The ridges of his fingerprints, like what you imagine mountains would be like if they were real, brush against sensitive nerve endings, electric shocks traveling up your spine to alight your brain with pleasure. It's breathtaking. You look up at him, lowering your other arm. He watches you kindly.

 

"Are you trying to ask if I find you attractive?" Carlos prompts you delicately. You nod mutely in response. Carlos smiles slightly. "Cecil, you are very nice to look at. Really, you're pretty, or handsome, whatever you like. Don't worry about it."

 

"Oh." You say on autopilot. "Neat." Then you wince. Carlos' smile grows. His fingers retreat, but his words are so bolstering you don't even mourn them.

 

*

 

Still, Carlos does not date you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your life unfolds before you.

 

"What is it?" You say frantically. "What danger are we in? What mystery needs to be explored?" Carlos slowly shakes his head. He looks bedraggled, too tired to grin, hair limp with sweat. Without the lab coat he seems small. Fragile and all too human. You, who have witnessed so many people die at the hands of Night Vale, curse human mortality. But only in your mind.

 

"Nothing." Carlos says finally, voice heavy but with a note of relief. You feel his relief resonate with your own. "After everything that happened…" His eyes waver on your face, flicking from one feature to the next. You think he is drinking you in, trying to memorize you, so that he may record every inch of your face in a journal with his illicit pens. He probably knows your face better than you do. "I just wanted to see you." It feels as though you are short circuiting. Because for all your overzealousness, there is no way to misinterpret that.

 

"Oh." It's barely a whisper. You stare at him, not sure what you are supposed to do. You might have forgotten to blink. You certainly stop breathing. Carlos turns his head from you to the sun slowly sinking beyond the flat horizon.

 

"I used to think it was setting at the wrong time." Carlos quietly admits. "But then I realized that time doesn't work in Night Vale, and that none of the clocks are real. Sometimes things seem so strange, or malevolent, and then you find that, underneath, it was something else altogether, something pure, and innocent."

 

Your mouth is dry. Your palms are sweaty. Your heart, which you have never bothered to beat, seems to be stirring. All of these meaty parts are yours and not yours. You do not know what you are or where you came from, or even why you stubbornly cling to this patch of space rock. Yet despite all of these mysteries, you would like to imagine that you are not strange or malevolent. You long to be pure, innocent.

 

"I know what you mean." You say. You hope you are correct.

 

Carlos pats the hood of his car. He looks at you expectantly. You jolt when you understand that he is asking you to join him. You stumble over your own limbs in your eagerness to comply. You clamber up onto the hood beside him. You aren't sure what to do with yourself, this collection of body parts you've never been so acutely aware of before. Your words fail you. You hear Carlos expel breath from his lungs, and you're intensely glad that he is still alive to do so.

 

He says nothing, but Carlos rests his hand on your knee. It is a comforting weight. You stop thinking so much. You follow instinct you aren't sure is really yours. Your body shifts towards his, and you lay your head on his shoulder. This close, you can feel the energy thrumming under his skin. His nervous system is sizzling. Muscles constantly contract and loosen. Blood pumps through his veins. Fluids churn within his bowels. He is a wonderful mix of moving parts, and you love every bit of him.

 

*

 

You've never been so happy. Then again, you only remember a fraction of your possible lifespan.

 

*

 

"So remember listeners: Nihilism, only in moderation. Think responsibly." Carlos taps lightly, so polite, on the sound booth door. You Manifest quickly. It's almost second nature now, you take this form so often. You know that he will wait until the show is over, but you honestly can't wait to see him. "That just about does it for us, my beloved audience. Before we go, let me remind you that no matter what you do, there will always be people who love you, and people who hate you. It is important to keep track of which is which, lest you find yourself spooning with, say, _Steve Carlsberg_. That truly would be a nightmare. So I bid you, as always: Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight."

 

As soon as you are off the air, you stand and cross to the door. Pulling it open, you are greeted by the visage of your boyfriend. And yes, you checked, you are allowed to call him that. The sight of him fills you with joy. You gingerly peck his cheek, blood welling under your skin in an almost unconscious gesture of shyness.

 

"Hello Carlos." You say happily.

 

"Hi Cecil." He replies with a small quirk of lips.

 

"I've just got to grab my things, then I'll be ready to be swept off my feet." You move back to the table. You've started carrying a briefcase. It's mostly empty, just a couple papers with doodles in blood and some special cat nip for Khoshekh. It seems professional, and more human.

 

"That's a tall order for Big Rico's." Carlos quips. You laugh. He's so witty. "I've got something to ask you." He continues nonchalantly. "This might seem like a stupid question."

 

"Oh I highly doubt that, Carlos." You assure him over your shoulder as you heft the heavy briefcase from the floor. He hums, that noise he makes when he is befuddled by your praise. So modest, your Carlos.

 

"Thanks, but, well... Do you know if the government ever did atomic testing in this area? Like, around Radon canyon?"

 

Your body freezes, mind too consumed to give it purpose. Explosions ring through your memories. Something that was not just wind and not just sound billowing out across the desert landscape. Destruction everywhere, and somehow from it all, the opposite: creation. You don't know why these memories have suddenly appeared, but all at once the mystery of your existence is gone. Your life unfolds before you.

 

"Because it would explain some scorching we… Cecil? Cecil are you okay? What's wrong?" Hands shake you vigorously, but it is distant to you. "Oh my god, Cecil! You're, you're fading out, I can't—" His hands phase through you. That's what finally snaps you out of it.

 

You take a big gulp of air feeling solid lungs expand. There's something hard and cold underneath the squishiness of your glutes, and you realize you must've fallen to the floor. You can see Carlos kneeling in front of you, frightened and concerned.

 

"Cecil, tell me what happened." He says as he offers you his hand. With his help you both stand, though your legs shake. His perfect, beautiful eyes are entreating. "Please?"

 

"It's… nothing." You think desperately for a way to salvage the situation. "Didn't you h-hear about the compulsory paralysis and, uh, intangibility mandate?" Carlos steps back. He's watching you shrewdly.

 

"Are you lying to me?" The accusation is simple and without incredulity or hysterics. You can't look at him. You say nothing. Carlos shakes his head. "You don't have to tell me. If it's a big deal, if it's private, then I wont pry. But I'm here to listen, okay?" Carlos is so sweet, so good, so much better than you. You have lied to him since the moment you met. Bodily fluids are congesting within your head. You sniff. Wetness trails down your face. "No, no, don't cry, Cecil, don't cry."

 

"I… Carlos… I can't… Y-you…"

 

"Shush, it's okay." He says weakly. "Let me get you some water."

 

"I don't need water!" You burst out, buzzing with too many truths on your tongue. "I don't need water, or food, or air, or—" You break off suddenly and stand. You stride towards the door.

 

"Wait!" Carlos calls to you, and it nearly kills you to ignore him. Nearly. You don't think you are capable of dying.

 

*

 

You don't know where it is you go. It feels like a void. It feels like the spaces between. It feels… _felt_ like home.

 

*

 

You slink into his apartment some time later. You are not flushed or crying, you stand straight and your face is expressionless. It is as close to your natural state as you can be while still Manifested. Carlos sees you, and a grateful smile breaks out over his face. He walks over to you and takes you in a careful embrace. He is warm and heavy with substance. You realize how accustomed you have become to sensation. You are loath to give it up, but you think without Carlos there would be no point to maintaining this form.

 

He drags you to his couch, and he settles you there beside him. His arm curls around your shoulders, and you lean into him easily. Carlos does not ask you to explain, but you do.

 

You tell him about your birth, and you borrow a term from science: The Big Bang. You don't think it's the same one, because you came into existence with most of the universe intact. You were a burst of heat, gamma rays, beta particles, helium-4, hydrogen-3, strontium-90, caesium-137, and a pinch of tin-126. This is where the science ends, you say sadly, because the rest is too fantastical to believe.

 

At first you were spread over the expanse of the desert, but something about this little town drew you in. You coalesced until you were one, a consciousness. You knew so much, yet understood little. The more you stayed in this town, the more concrete you became. It helped you to grow, until you were able to see. You witnessed dozens of occurrences happening simultaneously. Soon enough, it seemed only natural to utilize this skill for the good of the town. You found a job, because Night Vale does not care if you are weak, or if you are a hydra, or if you do not exist at all; there is a place for you.

 

The radio completes you. It gives you purpose. You think you would be floating through the expanse of space with nothing to tether you to this thing you call life if not for Night Vale Community Radio. While you never wear a body on the radio, you know that physical form has its advantages. Manifesting is your way of drawing on the particles around you and covering yourself in a human-like form. It is not a perfect likeness, certainly not within where your organs are more cold and rocklike than anything alive, but it gets the job done. You can interact with the interns. You can pet Khoshekh. You can, you tell him, do many things that an incorporeal entity cannot. But before you met Carlos, you had never felt at home under this skin.

 

You say that you never meant to deceive him. So often you fantasized about coming to him without form. You dreamt of your energy melding with his, inhabiting his solidity, letting him absorb you into himself. But you are reasonably sure that it would be impossible. You think of your first meeting, when his little yellow box had crackled with alarm at your presence, and you thank every deity imaginable that your Manifestation keeps your true destructive nature at bay.

 

You end quietly by saying, "I love you." Love, you go on in a murmur, is one of those things you had known about but never understood. You could recite Shakespeare's sonnets to the letter, but its meaning had escaped you. Until you met Carlos. You tell Carlos, quieter and quieter until your voice is merely a hum, all the things you love about him. You do not mention his perfect, beautiful hair, or his perfect, beautiful eyes.

 

Carlos has been silent all the while you've been speaking. Somewhere in your recount you have shifted so that your head lies pillowed in his lap. His fingers caress your skin, over your cheek, under your jaw, down your neck. It makes you feel real, you think, like being on the radio. When your words dry up, there is a pause while he dutifully waits for more. He finally begins to respond, and his voice is calm, soothing, perfect, and beautiful.

 

He tells you about _science_. Science is not simply a collection of data or conclusions. It is not a way of pigeon-holing the world into the already known. It does not discount what it cannot explain. Instead, Carlos says, science is a set of tools with which people can better understand their world. If there are unexplained phenomenon, science does not scoff or deny because it does not fit established patterns. Science dutifully records everything, the normal and the abnormal, in the hopes that someday this too may be explained. Anything unknown, undiscovered, or inexplicable, will not be that way forever. It is all just waiting for the right theorist to come along, for the right observer at the right time, for the happy lab accident that changes the world.

 

"Everything is science." Carlos tells you softly. "Me… and you. You just haven't been understood yet." He says it with trembling hopefulness. You find his hand and take it in yours.

 

"Until now." You whisper. He twines your fingers in response, and you relax. Maybe you even glow. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems as though I needed validation from strangers on the internet to pressure me into finishing this story. Hey, if it works, I'll take it.  
> Also, Cecil's origin story draws from this Wiki page:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuclear_fission_product


End file.
